25,025 NANO YA. A tad bit worn out this week, but hanging in. Was two days ahead in my daily word count, but the mundanities intruded so now I’m right on target and just have to maintain the flow.

Reading Virginia Woolf’s A Writer’s Diary and came across the interesting tidbit that she shared house expenses with her husband and in 1935, she didn’t make enough money from her writing for her share and she had to dip into her savings of 770 pounds, she called it her “hoard,” for the 70 pounds she needed to make up her deficit. Virginia Woolf was a brilliant writer who, plagued with terrible headaches and haunted by clinical depression, struggled nearly every day of her life to write. Some days she just couldn’t do it. Reading her diary both fascinates and saddens me because I’m reading toward the tragic end of her life before her time. Driven by depression, she drowns herself in the Ouse in March, 1941. Such a loss.


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